Aftermath
by XPhantomzAngelX
Summary: After the dust clears, what is left? Will we regret our actions in the storm, or flow with what it gives us? CDxRC CDxED Read and Review!
1. Prologue

Prologue

It was nighttime, for that I was sure. I shuffled down a corridor, as to not be seen. I knew exactly where I was. I had been there so many times before. The Opera Populaire had usually been a place of tempo, with dancers and singers bustling around. But on this night everything seemed so quiet, so eerie, that I couldn't recognize this place as the Opera house I knew and loved.

What sparked my curiosity on this night was a man, clad in black robes. There was something familiar about him that I couldn't put my finger on. He was walking into a dark alley with a woman. From what I could see, this woman was beautiful. Her long, curly brown hair and the most beautiful chocolate eyes that I had ever seen were enough to make any man fall to their knees. The dress she wore hugged her bodice perfectly, most likely assisted with the help of a corset. I felt like a lion after its prey, stalking these people with great stealth.

As this man led this woman down the labyrinth-type halls of the opera house, I felt very tense feeling of déjà vu, simply because these were the very same halls that I had met my Angel of Music in.

After hurrying down innumerable corridors, they finally reached a room. The man entered, with the woman and I close behind. The room was empty, except for a mirror, in the far most corner of the room. I waited about thirty seconds until the man and the woman crept through the door before I realized that the mirror was a trapdoor.

One and only thing came to mind with the word trapdoor was Erik. He had always been the master of trickery and architect. From what I had been told, he had designed many buildings and infamous structures during his younger days in Persia. I knew for a fact, that to occupy his mind, he made torture devices to amuse himself. These "devices" often killed the lives of innocent people, on his behalf of course.

With my mind, now clouded with thoughts of Erik, I was forced to ponder that distant thought. There were so many times that I wondered what my life would have been like if Erik were like everyone else. As a matter of fact, I am certain that if Erik wasn't cursed with such a face, and grew up being loved by his parents, he would have been such a gentleman!! He could have taken me out for walks on Sunday afternoons and tended to my every need, just as he said he would. It is horrible that he had to go through the torture of having no love. He would have made a wonderful husband to some lucky woman out in the world, but I guess things don't always turn out the way you want in life. He just learned that the hard way, that's all.

I heaved a great sigh, realizing that I would never get to see my Angel of Music ever again. I would never get to see his giddy, crooked smile when I came in to his view. I would never get to hear his cries of delight as I performed his operas right before his eyes. Never again. I would never get to see that man who made me feel so many different emotions all at once. Anger, pride, horror, happiness, serenity, pity, all at the same time! Allowing a stray tear to run down my face, I had to veer my focus on getting through this trapdoor, not Erik!

Subsequent to inspecting the door for about a quarter of an hour, I finally figured out how to open it. There was a bolt on the bottom two corners of the door which needed to be turned simultaneously to open. If only I had paid attention before, this could have been much easier. But, my ever veering mind had drifted away from what was going on in this world, and more to my conscious mind.

I tiptoed down multiple corridors, followed by hundreds of steps. I hid behind a door to listen to the conversation unfolding before me. My heart began to pound when I heard the sound of two voices. Two very familiar voices.

"Erik no…please! Don't make me do this. I…I can't do this." The woman's voice sounded so melancholic and scared. It made extremely worried. I peeked out from behind a corner to see who was hiding behind the cloaks.

Much to my astonishment, the man and woman were exact replicas of Erik and me! In all honesty, I was petrified. During the few years in which I partook in an academic education, never had I learned such a phenomenon to defy the laws of physics as this occurrence had. But, not having any control over the situation, I decided to go along with it.

"Don't make you do what, Christine? Give up your soul to the one thing that has only supported and helped you through your life? Should I not make you not devote your heart to my music, the one thing that has guided you through life? Or should I simply let you return to the surface world, where you will most likely run off with the Vicomte, leaving me here, never to return to gaze upon my haunted face? After all I've done for **you**!!"

Although I was still quite unsure of what was going on, I knew one thing. Erik was hurt. I had heard it in his voice so many times before. It brought back memories of the last time I rendezvoused with him. Things didn't work out so well. My heart stopped for a moment, waiting to hear what her retort would be to his bitter comment.

"Erik…Angel….My Angel of Music……I…" Tears began to well up-in mine, and my duplicate's eyes.

"Don't call me that name!" he spat "You don't have the right to call me that name anymore. I am no angel of yours!"

My carbon copy's pleas were no match for Erik. I knew him, and he did not put up with anyone's pitiful pleas, especially when I was lying. It was odd actually, how I could never lie to his face without him knowing. It was as if he had a supernatural power to see right through me. For him, feelings and thoughts were naked and exposed. There was nothing that I or anyone else could hide from him. No one kept secrets from Erik.

Sensing that something either terribly wrong or tremendously good was about to happen, I focused my attention back to this argument.

For about twenty minutes I witnessed myself cry before Erik, who was just standing there, as gallant and livid as before. Out of nowhere he spoke. His voice was quiet, just below a whisper, and obviously filled with sadness and hurt.

"Christine….my dear sweet Angel, you don't know. I wish you knew. I wish I could tell you everything, or at least I had wished. I have brought you here today to tell you something. It is something I have wanted to tell you since the day that I had heard your innocent, pure voice echo the halls of the opera house. It is something that I wanted to tell you every time you looked past my horrid face, and made my legs tremble. It is something I had wanted to tell you since the moment you accepted me for the person who I really am, not what I looked like. I don't care that you love someone else, or that you may not care for me in return. I just wanted to tell you one thing before I die. Yes, Christine, I am dying. Dying of love. Christine, I love you."

Much to my delight, she kissed him. No words were spoken, no body language shown, nothing. She grabbed his ashen face and kissed him. It lasted for only a second, but it seemed to go on forever. It was just a kiss, on Erik's malformed lips, full of bottled up emotion and desire. I know it sounds rather irrational and maybe even insane, but I felt the slightest desire to have my very own lips against his. Just for that moment, a moment that I would not have had other time. Now, I wanted to be with him.

My heart was pounding. My hands had a steady tremor. I closed my eyes for a moment to savor in the information my head had been trying to tell me. When I opened my eyes, I was in my bedroom. I looked around. No trace of Erik, or another copy of myself, or a coffin, or a lair. The only thing in sight was my fiancée, Raoul, lying next to me, still in deep slumber.

It was only a dream.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The next morning I had been awoken rather early to the nervous cries of Raoul.

"Christine, Christine!" he cried, shaking my shoulders nervously, "Are you alright?"

I instantly shot up awake. I looked into his blue eyes swimming with tears and embraced him tightly for reassurance. I immediately began to ask questions.

"What happened? What did I do?"

"Oh Christine…" he whispered, "I was so scared. I thought something had gone terribly wrong. I was about to leave for my business, and then you started yelling out his name!"

"Who Erik?" _He couldn't have heard all of it? Could he?_

"Well, yes. You were shaking and cold, and I thought that you had a nightmare. Are you okay? What happened?"

"It was nothing, I'm fine, dear." I forced a smile at Raoul, hoping that he would buy my smile. He leaned closer towards me and whispered to me in a serious tone, as if I was a child who had done a blasphemous deed and was lying about it.

"Did it have anything to do with him?"

I felt terrible having to lie to Raoul. This wasn't the first time I had had a dream like that. When we were little, he was one of the only people that I could confide in. Now, I feel torn between keeping my dreams a secret, and confiding in him once again, and therefore breaking his heart. I couldn't do that.

"No, no, of course not…" I began, my voice getting stronger with every syllable. "…I haven't even thought about him since the last time I saw him."

Raoul crouched down real low and looked at me concernedly in my eyes. He asked me several times to make sure I was okay before he left for business. After giving him an assuring kiss on the cheek and an embracing hug, Raoul finally set off for work. I could tell that he didn't believe a word of what I said.

I barely touched my baguette with strawberry jam that morning, which for the record, was one of my favorite foods. After an hour of staring at my plate, I began to realize that I was drawing attention to myself. Many of the servants were simply standing there, with their eyes fixed on me, waiting for me to make a movement. I felt quite embarrassed in all honesty, because I didn't know how long they were there for. I also began to worry that they would tell Raoul. But my worries were all relieved once Rosa stepped out of the small group of servants.

Ever since I moved into the de Chagny estate, most of the servants had made me feel welcome. One in particular, Rosa, I had developed a relationship with as a friend, not as I had with the other servants. She was a kindly old Negro woman who was almost like the mother to the rest of the servants. She did all the main cooking and cleaning for Raoul and I, and the other servants. Everyone looked up to her because she was a very wise person, almost like the leader of the pack.

My first night at the de Chagny estate, Rosa came up to my room with a plate full of freshly made crepes, with a scrumptious fudge filling. We sat there, in my room, for a couple of hours, like a couple of adolescents, telling stories about each other's lives. Rosa's past was quite sad in my opinion. In fact, I recall having to pull out a handkerchief a couple of times to wipe away tears.

She grew up in South Africa with her parents and four sisters. The oldest of the bunch, she was automatically the caretaker of them all. Especially when her father and mother came to their death because of disease, Rosa was depended on by her sisters to be taken care of. They lived peacefully for a couple of years. When Rosa was fourteen, she was taken away from her sisters in Africa to Europe to serve as a slave. For twenty years, she traveled from country to country being put up for sale at countless slave auctions.

No one ever wanted her, because of all the whip marks on her back. She traveled for twenty years, hoping for a good family that would take her in. When she was in her mid-thirties, she met a man named Abayomi. Soon they fell in love. He promised her that he would find her again someday. Rosa was ecstatic. And ironically, their masters ended up being right next door to each other. He would sneak out at night and come to visit Rosa when their masters were sleeping. But all good things seemed to always come to an end for Rosa.

After five years of secretly meeting, Abayomi was murdered by his master after being caught sneaking out one night. Unfortunately, Rosa didn't know this information until many years later, when she was greatly saddened. After her masters died she was put up for sale once again, but this time in the city of Paris.

For the next couple of months Rosa stayed in Paris, by herself, being put up for auction. At long last, Raoul came up and took her in. Since then, she has been a very grateful and happy servant of the de Chagnys.

I respected this woman greatly, not just because she confided her secrets in me, but also because she had been through so many terrible things, and could still sit here and tell me about it. So, I confided in her.

I told her about my career at the opera house. I told her about my father and the Angel of Music. I told her about how I met Erik, and how he was hopelessly in love with me. I told her about how I met Raoul and who Erik exactly was. I told her about the night beneath the opera house where Erik had given me his final ultimatum. I told her about the promise he asked me to keep. And now, today, I told her the dream I had about him. After listening to me in silence for about a half-hour, she spoke.

"Did you love him, child?" I was taken aback by her sudden question. I had never really thought about it up until now. A pregnant pause was all that was heard before I could even try to answer her back.

"I…I…don't know Rosa…I really don't know."

She raised her eyebrows at me, as if to say that my answer was ludicrous. We just sat there in silence for a very long time. Then I began to sob. All the trauma of the past few days had really done a lot to me. She cradled me in her arms, stroking my head serenely to ease the pain. And that was all that needed to be done to make me feel better.

I had decided a walk was in order. I figured some fresh air would be good for me. I needed the space to clear my head. So, I ordered a carriage to the center of town as soon as I could and set off.

The morning hours of Paris were usually the most admirable, especially on a sunny day. To my great fortune, it was beautiful today. The sunlight shone on the Seine River, the birds were singing their joyful ditty, and tulips were blooming, showing the first signs of spring. I strolled through the streets of Paris, taking the time to fully relish its beauty. I inhaled and exhaled the air of spring, which consisted of rain, flowers, and women's perfume. As tranquil my mind was at the moment, I couldn't help but feel lonely.

Over the years many loneliness was a part of me that I don't think I would ever understand. That loneliness which ate at the very core of my heart. The day that I left my Angel, I left a large portion of my soul there, in the cellar of the opera house, with Erik. My Angel of Music, as I had called him, was a part of me, and without him there guiding me through life with his beautiful laments, my life, was almost like a human without bones, useless.

People had wondered who this "angel" was whom I was speaking so highly of. Who was this "Erik" I adored? Each person got the same story. My father played violin. He loved it ever so dearly. Often, he would go to parties and weddings to play the loveliest music I have ever heard. Other times, he would play me Swedish lullabies to help me get to sleep. He played a wide variety of music, different types of music arranged from different periods. He then laced them all together into one big composition that he would play. But as he got older, his graceful hands became weak. Day after day he became weaker and weaker until his judgment day; the day that I prayed to God would come much later than it did. I sat down next to his bed and held his hand, a ritual, which by that point in time was very familiar.

I swallowed hard. My palms became sweaty. I detested myself when I lied. Growing up as a catholic, I had always been taught to be a virtuous young girl. As long as I never swore, deceived, or hurt people, then when I reached the gates of heaven, I would gladly be welcomed by god himself. Now I feel as if all of those lessons that my family and teachers had taken time to teach me were all wasted.

Raoul crouched down real low and looked at me concernedly in my eyes. He asked me several times to make sure I was okay before he left for business. After giving him an assuring kiss on the cheek and an embracing hug, Raoul finally set off for work. I felt terrible.

I barely touched my baguette with strawberry jam that morning, which for the record, was one of my favorite foods. After an hour of staring at my plate, I began to realize that I was drawing attention to myself. Many of the servants were simply standing there, with their eyes fixed on me, waiting for me to make a movement. I felt quite embarrassed in all honesty, because I didn't know how long they were there for. I also began to worry that they would tell Raoul. But my worries were all relieved once Rosa stepped out of the small group of servants.

Ever since I moved into the de Chagny estate, most of the servants had made me feel welcome. One in particular, Rosa, I had developed a relationship with as a friend, not as I had with the other servants. She was a kindly old Negro woman who was almost like

"Christine…" He spoke, his voice dry and raspy.

"Yes Papa?" In all honesty, I was scared. Months had passed since I heard my father's happy voice. At such a young age, I didn't know what to think of the occasion when my mother died, but if my father had died, I didn't know, at the time, what I would have done.

"My time is short…I won't… be with you much longer." He expanded his arms towards me, but I merely moved closer to him to save him energy.

"When I am in heaven, child, your mama… and I will send… you a guardian… angel to watch over you forever… as long as…… you live. An Angel…… of Music."

"I love you papa." The moment those last words left his lips I knew for sure that he wasn't going to be alive much longer.

"I love you my dearest Christine." I began to cry. What could you expect? I was only eight years old.

"Papa don't leave me, please! I…I'll work harder on my studies and won't go out playing as often. I'll even remember to practice my violin if you stay. Please don't leave, please…please…**please.**"

"Christine…I have to leave you…"

"Nooooo……papa……don't"

"But before I go, I want to tell you this……find someone who you love, who you will spend the rest of your life…..someone who will treasure you……and wait on your every need…………he…………… will love you for………who you are………not where you come from. Just wait you'll find him……be patient…………"

Before I knew it he was gone. I placed my head on his breast. I listened to the soft beating of his heart. It became softer and softer with each thump it made, until there was no sound at all. That was the day my father died. It was also the day that I discovered, that I, had a guardian angel watching over me.

When I came to the opera house, I started out in the chorus. I was shy and uncomfortable singing along with all the other girls in the chorus. I feared that they would make fun of my voice. Meg Giry, one of the girls my age, constantly told me otherwise, but I still was introverted when it came to my singing. Besides worrying about my place in the choir, I also looked for signs of my angel of music. Under the bed, behind the curtains, and even in the chapel, he was no where to be seen. Then one day, I was sitting in the chapel. I was trying to talk to the spirit of my father.

"Oh father…" I said.

"…where is that angel of music you spoke so highly of? Where is he? I've waited and waited and he still isn't here. Have you lied to me papa? Did you lie to me?"

As I stared at the wooden floor, with my hands still tightly clutched around my cross on my neck, hoping for an answer, but knowing I wouldn't be receiving one.

"Your father hasn't forgotten you." I had heard a voice say.

"What? Who is there?" At first I thought I was being watched by someone from the opera. But it was no one I had known. The voice was deep and rich, immediately thinking any thoughts of it being someone from the opera. Then I thought, as ridiculously as it sounded that it was my father, up in heaven, trying to reach me in some way. Before I got around to thinking other possibilities, the voice spoke again.

"Just give him some time."

"…What...who are you?? Hello?" There was no reply.

That night I left the chapel with so many questions floating in my head, I felt that simply had to take a rest. Whose voice was this? Where was he from? How did he know who I was or what my situation was? And, most importantly, who was he??? That voice…it was so ineffably irresistible. Even at the young age of eight, I couldn't help but feel a strange floating feeling in my chest. I couldn't recognize what it was called…but whatever it was, it was the greatest feeling I had ever felt.

The following night, I returned to the chapel, inquisitive to know where in the world that voice was coming from. I sat down, and began to light candles for my father. Once I was done I closed my eyes and sang a Swedish hymn that he had taught me. Towards the end of the song, I heard another voice…it was him!! I continued singing, but not with as much intensity and deliberation as I had before. I intently listened to the man's voice. As I began to concentrate more and more on his singing, mine slowly dissipated, until neither of us was singing.

"You have a beautiful voice."

"Who are you?"

"I am your Angel of Music."

"Really? My father sent you all this way? Just to watch over me?!"

"Of course, why would I lie to you?"

"So does that mean you are going to sing to me, forever, until I die?"

"You want me to sing for you?" He asked, in a voice that actually sounded unknowing and undecided.

"Yes…" I said, beginning to doubt this man's identity as my Angel of Music.

"Well…yes…yes…of course."

At the time, I didn't understand why, but there was a hesitation in his voice that I just couldn't understand. It was almost as if he wasn't one hundred percent sure why he was there. Almost as if he didn't want to be involved with me or any other person. It was almost as if he had a past that he didn't wish for me to find out about.

"…one more thing…"

"Yes?"

"What is your name?"

"Erik."


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

He was always the kindest gentleman towards me. Each night, before my lesson, he would ask me how my day was going, what did I learn today in my studies, small talk similar to that. He would then sing with me arias from French operas that I had never heard of. He tutored me in ways that I never thought were possible. Because of this, we became very close friends.

Growing up, Erik was my friend. He was very open to me. He told me his opinions about everything; the managers of the opera house, who had sung well today; who hadn't. He often praised me for singing and told me that I had much talent. He told me how beautiful that I was and becoming. He never spoke of anything that had to do with his past, or what he had planned to do with his future.

Every evening, I sat in the chapel for hours, listening to his serene voice speak to me until he told me it was time to rest. He was the closest thing that I had of a father figure in my life. The strangest part of it all was that I didn't even know what he looked like.

I would often ask him why he doesn't show himself to me. His reply was almost always the same:

"That would take all the meaning out of an angel, wouldn't it?"

For ten years, I wondered why he was so uncomfortable about showing himself to me. For ten years, I wondered what lay beyond that beautiful voice. For ten years I hearkened to that wonderful sound, not knowing where it was coming from. Until, one day, I finally figured out the mystery that my very skin itched to know. It was one mystery, might I add, that I didn't need to solve.

It had been a great year for me. I had just begun my real career singing at the opera house. Carlotta, the Prima Donna, and star of the show, finally was replaced. Much to my intense delight, I was the one who obtained the part of the Marguerite in the new production of Charles Gounod's Faust.

After the performance, I had decided that I simply had to be alone.

Once the room was empty, he began to sing. It was that irresistible voice that I knew that nobody could refuse. A strange man whom I had never seen before stepped out from behind a mirror, and was singing at the same time. I knew it must have been my Angel of Music. But angels weren't supposed to be alive. You weren't supposed to be able to feel an angel? Were you?

When he grasped my hand, I gasped. His hands were as cold as ice. His eyes met mine for a moment, and nodded his head at me, as if to reassure me that I can trust him.

He guided me down multiple layers of the opera house. I could feel it getting colder each time we went down farther. As cold as I was from being surrounded by stone walls, I still felt warmth in my heart at his sudden act of candidness.

I later found out that his name was Erik. He was a very sad person indeed. The most unintelligible person would be able to know it. It was easily heard in his voice.

All dreams of an inanimate guardian angel slowly faded away from the picture. Here before me stood a man, not an angel, who finally showing me his true self.

His home, well, that's what I presumed it was; looked even nicer than some of the rooms I have seen in the Opera Populaire. There was a small lake that led to his home. He transported me there the most exquisite Italian gondola enormous organ dead center of the room. In fact, I think that it was the largest organ that I have ever seen. Great amounts of sheet music scattered the organ and floor. Melted candle wax littered most of the tables. Immense piles of crumpled up sheets of paper covered the ground. It was the biggest mess I had ever seen, and yet, I loved it. It was the most amazing sight I had ever seen.

I spent so much time with him those next couple of hours, being lost in the music, that I didn't really take the time to notice the obvious. That mask. The craving to know what lay beyond the alluring voice was driving me insane. He was sitting on his organ bench, busy composing. I reached out toward him, and caressed his lips, one of the only parts of his face that wasn't covered by a mask. His lips were uneven and deformed, but they were smooth.

I felt the hot air from his lips exhale into my palm.

"Christine……" He whispered. The sound of his voice sent chills up my spine. I slowly lifted my hands from his lips and placed them tentatively on the white leather mask that covered his face. I could feel his body stiffen when I touched his mask. I knew that I was entering a territory that was forbidden. The moment that my fingers pulled that mask from his face, the mood of that moment changed abruptly.

He violently swung around to face me and show me what I had done.

"Is THIS what you wanted to see?" he roared, aggressively digging his nails into my arms, shaking me furiously.

"I…I…"

In all honesty, the sight of him was the most frightening thing I have ever witnessed. I didn't have the courage to say anything.

When he finally released my arm, there was dead silence. I doubled over in pain. When I stood back to my original posture, Erik was no longer fuming, but crying. Crying, and begging for my forgiveness. He told me that his behavior was unheard of and uncalled for. He cried and cried, releasing tidbits of information about his "antagonistic" past. Then, he stopped. It was the strangest thing I have ever seen a person do. Even more strangely, he stood up, regained his composure and acted as if nothing had occurred in the first place.

I never thought it was possible for a person to be so merciful, so pitiful that they would turn to this. I of course forgave him. For what? That is beyond me, but if it prevented Erik from hurting himself any further then it didn't matter anyway. That night, after I did what I did, I greatly regretted pulling off that mask. I brought out a side of Erik that I had never seen before; sides of him which I didn't honestly wish too see either. What I didn't dare to notice, was that beneath the repulsive surface, was a man, just like any other, longing for love.

That fateful night underneath the opera house where he had given me the choice to either stay with him or explode the opera house, I had seen a monster and a man. The despair and loss of hope he felt was unbearable for me to watch. He gave me a decision. I could either stay with him forever, or go. The only problem with that was that I couldn't go. If I chose to go, the loads of gunpowder stashed underneath his home would have ignited, causing the whole opera to blow up. I felt so much pity for him that night, I couldn't handle the emotion. I chose to stay with him, saving the lives of countless people in the Opera Populaire.

Erik wasn't as elated as I had expected him to be either. He knew that I still loved Raoul. Yet, he kissed me on the forehead. Hot tears began to roll down his faded, gaunt cheeks. He knew. He knew that I would never see him again. I cried with him. I pitied him. I pitied him so much that I did the unthinkable. I put my forehead out again, positioning myself for him to kiss me.

When his malformed lips pressed against my temple, I thought that I would truly die, but I was wrong! I had lived. By that point in time, I had fully realized my fate. I was to be his bride. Our tears mingled, streaming from our faces. The very tears that fell from my eyes were of pity and sadness, not love and passion. They had finally made Erik realize that my heart could not belong to him.

So, he told Raoul and me to leave. He told us to go away and get married, and be happy as we wanted to be. As Raoul escorted me to the external world, I watched Erik's life crumble piece by piece. On a more contented note, I could finally be happy with Raoul. This "engagement" game that we had been playing had finally become reality! As I heaved a deep sigh, I knew things would never be the same. But somehow, someway, some things would never change.

I tried to convince myself persistently that everything was going to be all right, and that I would finally be complete the day that I chose to leave with Raoul. And by staying with Raoul for the rest of my days that life would go on, and I could finally be free from Erik's far reaching grasp. But I was wrong, oh so wrong.

I missed the stage. I missed the sound of the deafening applauses from my adoring fans. I missed my friends. I missed my dressing room. I missed my music. But most of all, I missed my teacher. I missed Erik.

I came in a little while before Raoul came home from work, just when the sun began to set outside. I searched the house for Rosa, who most likely was still cleaning. I spotted her, wiping off the table in the kitchen.

"Rosa!" I called out trying to get her attention.

"Yes, Child?" She turned around to face me. She wiped off her forehead with a tablecloth and placed it on the table beside her.

"I have the answer to your question."

"What question?" Old age must have been truly getting to her, since she had only asked me this question a few hours back.

"Well…you asked me if I loved him. If I loved Erik that is, and never really gave you an answer, and I…"

"What in Heaven's name are you trying to tell me?"

I took a deep, shaky breath. It was hard for me to actually admit it and hear myself say it but. I did love him. Maybe it was a crazy, fearful type of love, or a pitiful, sad type of love, or maybe even a passionate romance. I guess whatever kind it was, I am, somehow, someway, in love with him. I love his compassion, knowledge of the world, respect for me, the way he tends to me, all of it. There are some things that I don't understand in this world. This is one of them. I do love him. I, Christine Daáe am in love with him, Erik………the Angel of Music.

The thought spun through my head over and over again until it made me dizzy. Rosa still hadn't heard the response to her question, so I might as well have told her by now. My sudden epiphany had stalled my answer for a few moments; so I guess I had tried her patience enough. Maybe if I had closed my eyes I wouldn't have had to see her reaction.

"I love him...I love Erik."


End file.
